Intermission
by Exley-61
Summary: Scully has just found out she is pregnant and alone. So she's gone to the one person who won't let her hide from even herself.


Title: Intermission  
Author: Exley_61  
Feedback: exley61@yahoo.com  
Category: Angst,   
Distribution: You want it, just let me know where  
I can visit it.  
  
Spoilers: Up to season finale of season 6  
  
Summary: Scully has just found out she is pregnant  
and alone. So she's gone to the one person  
who won't let her hide from even herself.  
  
Disclaimers: As always, I don't own them, but I treat  
them nicely.   
  
  
Author's Note: This is the first story I've completed in  
almost a year and a half. After some gentle  
prodding from a few inquisitive readers, I've  
come back to stay a spell. Thank you, in   
particular, to Clarissa.  
  
  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
Intermission  
  
by  
  
Exley_61  
exley61@yahoo.com  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
  
  
It hurts to watch her. To talk to her and  
notice her gaze slid away and peer at something   
you can't begin to see. Memories overcome her   
more than she knows, more than I would dare to   
point out.   
  
I wish I could say I understand, that I've been  
there. . . but I can't. Not that I wouldn't. . . No,   
it's just. . . in order for me to say those words   
to her, she'd first have to tell me where it is   
she's been.  
  
You see, I know my sister. . . and because I   
do, I am just as sure that she knows me. Meaning:   
She knows she can't hide behind too wide eyes   
and an easy smile. I think she came here   
to be discovered, to be pushed into answers   
that others were unable to pry free. That is, if   
they even knew they were there to be found.  
  
"Dana, are you going to the mall with   
Miranda?" I ask coming down the stairs and   
into the living room. I carry my son, Jordan, hiked   
over my shoulder. He growls against my back as   
I hold him fireman-style while walking into the  
room.   
  
His mother wanted him downstairs ten minutes   
ago and unfortunately for him, Play Station was   
going to get a breather. His fingers grip my   
waist, grabbing at the love handles that dared   
to sneak up on me.   
  
"Jordan, quit it or the birdman will be comin' to  
rest on you," I threaten, leaning over to let him  
slide off of me. When he stands before me, his eyes   
are twinkling, daring.  
  
"Don't look to Aunt Dana for help," I admonish,   
shaking my head when I catch him glance her   
way. "You're in my territory now!"  
  
Without further ado, I grab him, craddling   
him against my body as my fingers dance over   
his stomach and neck, making sure not to miss his   
most sensitive fronts, the arm pits.   
  
"You can squirm all you want, but nothing   
escapes the Birdman, CAW!!" I tease. His giggles   
and gasping fill the air.  
  
"Charlie! Please, Dana is watching TV," Miranda   
admonishes as she comes back into the house. The   
dogs, Maggie and Mindy, lop past her and into the   
kitchen to their awaiting dinner bowls, their  
nails scratching against the linoleum.   
  
"It's fine, Miranda, I'm not really watching," Dana   
replies from behind us. Finally I release Jordan,  
or rather he slides down my legs into one big heap   
of kid.  
  
"Jordan, your sneaks are in the den. Go get   
them. We have to be back here by no later   
than 5:45. That gives us forty-five minutes   
to eat before your soccer practice. Now,   
let's go, mi hijo."  
  
"But Mom I don't wanna go today?"   
  
"Don't 'But Mom' me, you're the one that   
wanted to be on this team, Si? So you   
are, which means you're going to   
practice."  
  
"But Aunt Dana's here."  
  
"And she'll be here when you get back, stop   
arguing with your mother. Go get your shoes,   
now," I order, stepping in with that pointed   
stare and Ahab's trademark tone.   
  
I hear him stomp off to the den, muttering   
complaints with every foot fall. I smile. I'd   
realized soccer wasn't for me about the same   
age. Like father like son, I guess.  
  
"Charlie, did you give Roger Martins the money   
for the vacation bible school?" Miranda asks,   
walking into the kitchen. Her hand holds the  
swinging door open for me to follow.  
  
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Dana   
for a moment, gesturing to Miranda that I  
can't possibly leave Dana alone. She just   
narrows her eyes and smiles, shaking her   
head.  
  
Busted.  
  
"I thought that wasn't due till next   
Thursday," I offer, ready to meet my wife's   
counter offer as I follow her into the   
kitchen. I watch her check on the pot   
'something' cooking in the stove.  
  
"No, amore, next Thursday our part of Aunt   
Pilar's birthday money has to be given over   
to my sister for her fiftieth, remember?"   
  
I sidle up behind her and kiss her neck   
as she washes her hands in the sink.  
  
"Oh yeah," I murmur, waiting to see the   
goose bumps rise along her olive skin, which   
they do. "How could I have forgotten?"  
  
Miranda shivers as I lift her black hair out of  
the way, giving me access to kiss the side of her   
neck. I reclaim my favorite spot. . . that ittle   
apex of her jaw and throat. "Will you forgive me."  
  
"Eww Gross!"  
  
I shake my head,letting it rest against Miranda's   
shoulder before she slides around me.  
  
"You find your shoes? Good. Let's go.. we are   
outta here, pronto."   
  
Jordan continues to make gagging sounds as he   
follows Miranda out of the kitchen and into the   
living room where Dana is sitting on the couch.  
  
I cuff him on top of his head, ruffling his hair   
and point my finger at him. "You know, one day   
you'll understand."  
  
Jordan just rolls his eyes before going over to   
Dana to lay across her lap in one quick jump.  
  
The sound of her breath wooshing out of her as   
Jordan plays dead is tinges with the ring of   
laughter.   
  
I can't help but smile and meet Dana's gaze,   
shaking my finger at her. I think she's told him   
one of my stall tactics that I used to do with  
Mom.  
  
"Let's goOOoo," Miranda says, grabbing her keys   
out of the hallway dish. She walks over to me   
and I give her a quick peck on the lips wriggling   
my eyes and promising much more later.  
  
"You gotta deal," she whispers, giving me a smile.   
  
Did I neglect to mention that my wife is one hot  
lady? I knew I was glad for having been stationed  
in Puerto Rico once upon a military career.  
  
"I can't move," Jordan drones, sprawling out   
in all his eight-year-old glory, " I'm a dead   
bug. . . see?"  
  
"Well you're gonna get squashed if you don't   
get your fanny movin' this very minute, comprende?   
Now let's get going. Ships leaving."  
  
Jordan sighs before sitting up on Dana's lap. He   
turns to look at her. "You're not going with us   
to the stupid mall?"  
  
"Maybe next time," she offers gripping his chin   
and placing a kiss on his forehead. I wait for him   
to wipe it off but he doesn't. Instead he hops off   
of her and follows after Miranda who has just   
brought the mini van to life out in the drive way.  
  
"See ya later, sport." I call out from the door   
before shutting out the receding view of my   
family.   
  
The door closes with a snick and suddenly I feel   
the weight shift in the room. Dana exhales,   
coloring the air in tones that don't resemble   
soft sighs of contentment.  
  
Again, It hurts me to watch her, but watch   
her I do because she lets me and has always   
let me. I walk back into the living room, sitting   
down in the overstuffed chair beside the couch.  
  
"Lesbians and their secret male lovers, next   
on Springer," is heard from the TV. I reach   
over to the coffee table and snag the remote,  
shutting off Jerry.   
  
"You're not going to tell me you're a Lesbian   
are you?" I ask, trying to break her mood if   
only for a moment. "Because, I can put that   
back on if you want?"  
  
Dana rolls her eyes before staring down at   
her lap again. I settle back into my chair   
and wait, taking up my best therapist pose which  
Dana notices.  
  
"You're not going to psycho-analyze   
me, Charleston, I'm not one of your   
patients," she attacks right out of the   
gate.  
  
I lean forward and place my hand on her   
knee. "You don't have to tell me that, Dana.   
You are far more disturbed than my regular  
caseload."  
  
"Very funny."  
  
But somehow it's really not. I drop the   
teasing. I notice that she's thinner than   
I last saw her, which was Jordan's remission   
celebration only four months ago.  
  
He'd contracted Acute Lymphetic Leukemia   
at five years old. We'd celebrated the   
end of his treatment when everyone could   
get together. Dana had come with Mom. She seemed   
the happiest I'd seen her in a long while, or   
rather 'heard' in a long while as phone calls   
where more frequent than visits.   
  
"Talk to me, Dana. . . you know you can talk   
to your Charleston Chew," I whisper, cocking my   
head. She meets my questing gaze and grins, but I   
can see her eyes submerged beneath a flood of emotions.  
  
"I . . . I don't know where to begin," she   
murmurs, looking away and wiping at her face. She   
gives a wry laugh and tosses her head. "I mean, I   
do know where to begin. . . but I am not quite sure   
that I can start."  
  
I stand up and grab her hand. "Come on, let's go   
play."  
  
She is so up-ended by this response that she lets   
me easily drag her through the Victorian,   
cutting through the den and library to the back yard.   
Something tells me that this is the right thing  
to do.  
  
"Oh Charlie," she gasps, amazed, walking down the   
last few steps of the deck. In the center of the   
yard is our humongous oak tree. Existing between   
its large and gnarled branches is a replica of a  
tree house we'd built on base in San Diego. It had   
been my favorite place as a child, and   
Dana's . . . and I wanted my son to have the   
chance to make it his favorite, too.  
  
I tug her hand and smile. "Well, let's go."  
  
I don't give her a chance to refuse, pushing   
her ahead of me to the ladder resting against  
the trunk. With only a slight pause, she shrugs   
her shoulders before gripping the ladder and  
climbing her way up and inside. I follow close   
behind her.   
  
It's warm, but not too warm. I can see through   
one of the windows. Dark clouds are crawling   
toward us. They'll arrive just in time to cancel   
soccer practice. Jordan will be so pleased his  
prayers were answered.  
  
"Charlie, this is incredible. It's almost   
exactly like our old one," she gasps, running   
her gaze over the two large windows,  
shelves and rocking chair. . . and she's right.  
  
"Look above the shelves, next to the   
window," I tell her, pointing to the spot.  
  
Dana crawls over the braided throw rug to get  
a better view. She gasps, a hand coming to rest   
over her lips. "This is..."  
  
"Incredible, right?" I finish for her.   
  
In a ten by eight lamenated glossy is a collage   
of Dana, Me, Billy and Melissa from our old tree   
house. Mixed in with the photos of us are pictures  
of Dad and Mom, particularly that time when   
Dad had become our prisoner on the Spanish   
Armada and we it's Pirates.   
  
Mom had let us use her eye liner. . . or we  
swiped it, I can't recall. We had done ourselves   
up in our meanest faces, stealing the booty:  
  
Dad's barbeque fork.   
  
We ransomed it back to him at the price of fifty   
cents for each of us. It was a big victory. Mom   
made us pose for a zillion pictures after  
the great battle while Dad barbequed our   
dinner.   
  
"Where did you get these?" she asked, her   
voice incredulous.  
  
"Mom gave them to me when I was going   
through one of our photo albums. I'd used the   
pictures with a dash of memories to design   
this tree house.  
  
She shook her head before leaning back to   
sit on a pile of pillows propped against the   
opposite wall. It was the farthest she could   
actually get from me within the seven by six foot   
area.  
  
"I feel like I've stepped back in time," she   
whispers, looking over at me before her eyes turn   
downcast again. "But. . . but we haven't done   
that, Charlie, we haven't."  
  
"That's true enough, Dana bear," I answer   
softly, careful not to frighten her quiet. You   
don't push with Dana, not if you want to let her   
really speak, explain. Time was what she always  
needed, and so that's what I give her now.  
  
New tears trickle down her cheeks but she   
ignores them, so I do, too. "Charlie. . . so   
much. . . so much has happened that I don't know   
where to begin. And I hate this...."  
  
She bangs her fist against a pillow. "I hate   
this crying, this confusion. . . this anger!"  
  
"Talk to me."  
  
"He's gone," she whispers, biting her lip and   
giving a slight shake to her head.   
  
She doesn't have to explain who she means. There's   
only been one person who drives her to the limits   
of her endurance, and that's where she is.   
  
Dana had always pocketed away her hurt,   
closing the bruised compartments within herself   
using an usually impenetrable sealer. She always   
tried to make sure that whatever pain she  
was going through was not to interfere with   
whatever she wanted. So if the binding started   
to crack and emotions leaked out, she'd be sure   
to shore them up again with the sheer force of   
her will.   
  
Ahab had that influence on her, on all   
of us, really. It took my boy getting sick   
to make me realize I had to demolish those   
barriers and reprioritize my world. I had to   
change. I had to give myself to my family,   
the pain and joy and everything else in between   
or I'd lose them all in one way or another.   
  
I could see Dana had come to her precipice   
of change now, too.   
  
"I'm pregnant, Charlie," she throws at me. I   
catch the information square in the chest.   
onfusion crowds over me but I hold my tongue   
as she provides answers to questions I've barely   
had time to form.  
  
"I don't know how it's happened. Infertile.   
That's what I was told, but I guess I never   
really put it to the test till recently."  
  
Recently, that was noteworthy.  
  
"But he left you?" I ask, and maybe anger   
tinges my tone a little. I can't help it,   
she's my big sister.  
  
"No, Mulder didn't leave me. He's gone. There's   
a difference," she replies.  
  
A difference, okay. . . seems the same in my   
book but I hold that thought to myself. . . by   
the skin of my teeth, that is.  
  
"I can't explain it any further. . . not in   
a way that you would understand or accept."  
  
I feel my skin flush with anger. Dana sits   
crumpled before me, shattered in pieces that   
I can't even begin to help glue back together   
again and it's then that I realize that it isn't  
all of a sudden, that it's been slowly happening.  
She's been chipped and cracking for a long time. Her   
edges just now finally sharp enough to cut into my   
attention.   
  
I crawl over to her and crush her to my chest.   
Her silent tears become wails that bleed my   
heart. I place my hand over her head,  
running my fingers through her hair as I   
whisper words of comfort against her. I can   
feel her hands gripping my arms, squeezing   
them with the force of her pain.  
  
I don't know how long we sit there, but it's   
long enough for her to regain her composure and   
that threat of rain to become a reality. It   
pitter-patters against the leaves in pregnant   
droplets.   
  
Pregnant.   
  
I squeeze her against my chest even harder. Dana   
sighs heavily as I continue to stroke her hair.  
  
"Why is it that I always feel the safest with   
you, Charlie?"  
  
I rub her shoulder and kiss her foreheard.   
I know why. I am not blind to the fact that   
I'm a virtual cardboard cut out of our   
father, but maybe it's a little bit more than  
that as well. "I don't know, Dana bear."  
  
She sits back and looks up into my eyes,   
searching them for at least one answer to   
the whirlwind of questions and doubts fracturing   
her life. She seems to find it before shuddering   
out her next words. "I'm afraid, Charlie."  
  
She says the one thing I have never heard her   
admit -- and perhaps that unnerves more than it  
should. This is my big sis, the little terror of  
a girl who would dangle a spider between her fingers   
and threaten to toss it on me.   
  
She was the teenage girl who would sneak a pack of   
Melissa's smokes and think no one had caught her   
puffing away behind the garage.   
  
But, most of all, she was the woman who would dare   
to defy our father's wishes by joining the FBI. Which   
leaves me pondering this one question?   
  
Who was this woman now?   
  
My leg starts getting pins and needles and I try to   
supertitiously shake it back to life, but Dana  
feels the movement and leans away from me. I  
bite the inside of my cheek as the tingling sting  
of circulation returns.  
  
She cracks a weak smile at my obvious discomfort, forever  
more being a bit of the bratty sibling we all have  
left in us.  
  
"Laugh it up," I grimace, twisting my ankle in a   
circle, and pulling my thigh to my chest.   
  
She snorts and I break free of my concentrated   
efforts of avoiding gange green to look at her.   
A low rumble of thunder sounds off in the   
distance, mixing with the constant rain fall. Yet,   
all of that plays background music to the sound   
of her laughter and the sight of the first true   
smile that has laid claim to her face since   
she'd arrived at my doorstep late last night.  
  
Maybe I know who this woman is after all.  
  
"I needed this, Charlie," she whispers, looking  
around the tree house before staring at her jean-  
clad legs. She looks up, meeting my gaze as she   
clasps my hand, squeezing. ". . . to be here, with   
you. I needed to be allowed to remember where I   
came from, who I am. . . not the woman that   
people and circumstances have tried to shape   
me to be."   
  
I give her hand a little squeeze in return. All   
the things I want to say, all the things I want   
to rail against on her behalf, all the things I've   
been struggling on how to say or if I even   
should, evaporate.   
  
It all comes back to one thing for us   
Scullys. Family. I don't know how I let myself  
so quickly forget. Even in our weakest moment,   
there is strength to be found in that one constant.  
  
I can't help recalling another rainy day over   
three years ago. Having escaped outside an   
emergency waiting room and feeling broken, lost   
and alone when I wasn't, I'd felt her hand grip   
my shoulder and another my arm.   
  
She leaned against my hitching back, the rain beginning   
to soak us both. That was where I first began to shed   
the man I'd always played at being to become the   
father/husband, brother/son I always wished I could be.   
I let out a staggered sigh, shaking my head in  
understanding.   
  
I move to sit beside my sister, our backs   
against the wall while I hold her hand and let   
her just be her -- letting another Scully take  
their leave of the stage, because really. . . that's   
what she needs, that's what she wants. I understand  
now and I "have" been there before. So, I give   
her what she's come to me for, even if that's   
only for a small intermission. It's enough.  
  
"Thank you, Charlie."  
  
I smile, blinking a few tears from my   
eyes. "Anytime, Dana bear."  
  
She snuggles against me and I wrap an arm   
around her. We sit there just listening to   
the rain fall and watching the lightening cross   
the sky for a while. The sound of the mini  
van returning and Miranda carouling Jordan   
into the house is the only interruptions.   
  
I smile before whispering in her ear. "You   
know, I've always been partial to the name,   
Charleston."  
  
She snorts, shaking her head against my   
shoulder. "I thought that 'torture' ended with  
you. I mean, you spared Jordan."  
  
I laugh shaking my head, busted for a second  
time today. "Well, things change."  
  
Maybe that's an understatement at this time. So  
many things that I can't even begin to know, things  
that she won't let me know, have brought her to   
where she is right now. I accept that. Yes, things   
may definitely change, but the one constant I pray   
she knows is that I will always be there for her.   
  
"Not all things change," she whispers, meeting my   
gaze with an emotion-laden smile. I return it.  
  
I guess. . . I guess my prayer is answered.  
  
~fini~  
  
  
devour feedback at: exley61@yahoo.com 


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